


Spider Web

by provocative_envy



Series: Chaos Theory [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Gen, Monthly Sunday Brunch, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5360573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocative_envy/pseuds/provocative_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/><i>“We were discussing Draco’s latest…</i><i><b>distraction</b></i>—<i>the girl who thinks we should dissolve tax brackets and replace Mount Rushmore with a Stalin statue.”</i></p><p><i>“That isn’t what she </i><i><b>said</b></i>—” <i>Draco snaps, just as their waitress approaches to take their order. “Yes, hi, I’ll have the eggs benedict—make sure the Canadian bacon is </i><b>extra Canadian</b>, will you?”<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Spider Web

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about six months after the end of [Pinky Promise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3765514/chapters/8364478). It can technically standalone, but I’d recommend reading it as the introduction to the next fic in the series, which will be posted soon.

* * *

 

Draco fucking _hates_ Monthly Sunday Brunches with his father.

He has to wear a _tie_ and laugh at Lucius’s god-awful Hank Hill impressions and order something _bland_ and _boring_ and All-fucking-American because that ugly asshole editor at the Huffington Post—who had gone to, like, a _public school_ in fucking _Ohio_ and  _live-Tweeted_ his most recent re-watch of _The Cable Guy_ , like, come the fuck _on_ —had decided putting lox on a goddamn bagel was _culturally appropriative_.

It’s half past ten and Draco can’t even get _drunk._

And he couldn’t invite Hermione because they aren’t _married_ yet and he couldn’t invite Theo because Theo’s _mother_ is a _Democrat_ and while he could theoretically have invited Blaise because of the whole _minority voters_ _thing_ , Blaise had been too busy, like, _brooding_ about Daphne breaking up their weird little threesome, and he’d just thrown a box of Thin Mints at Draco’s head when he’d tried to, like, physically coerce him. Or whatever.

God.

He can’t even text _Potter_.

Not that he’s _friends_ with Potter.

That would be _stupid._

What the fucking _fuck_.

The only potential upside to the morning is that Snape might show up; shit _always_ goes down when Snape shows up.

“Snape coming?” Draco sighs, finally deigning to speak as he drags the tines of his fork through a decorative swirl of freshly whipped butter.

“His name is Severus, Draco, and yes, he will be making an appearance,” Lucius replies, briefly glancing heavenward like _Draco_ is the one at fault for how ridiculously fucking _tiresome_ everything already is. “Sit up straight, please—Dobby will be taking candids today.”

“ _Dobby will be taking candids today_ ,” Draco mimics, tossing his shoulders back with an exaggerated roll of his neck. “Is publicity even part of his job? Hermione said—”

“ _Hermione_ needs to stop _harassing_ my aides and leaving pamphlets about _health insurance_ underneath all their windshield wipers,” Lucius interjects snidely. “That girl is a _menace_.”

“Which girl?” a new voice suddenly drawls; Snape sniffs imperiously in Draco’s general direction before sliding into the seat next to Lucius. “Good morning, gentlemen. I apologize for my tardiness—I had a meeting scheduled with the elder Flint, and he insisted on a round of golf. Insipid man. No wonder Marcus can barely string a sentence together without wanting to punch it.”

Lucius hums, semi-fondly. “We were discussing Draco’s latest… _distraction_ —the girl who thinks we should dissolve tax brackets and replace Mount Rushmore with a Stalin statue.”

“That isn’t what she _said_ —” Draco snaps, just as their waitress approaches to take their order. “Yes, hi, I’ll have the eggs benedict—make sure the Canadian bacon is _extra Canadian_ , will you?”

Lucius grimaces. “Denver omelet, please,” he says, flashing the poor girl a highly polished, long-suffering sort of smirk; his teeth look as if they were whitened with, like, _gamma rays_ and nineteen gallons of bleach. “With the Wisconsin cheddar—and the California avocados. Nothing tastier than America on a plate, is there, ah, _Cho?_ ”

Cho’s answering smile is pained, and Snape’s expression almost immediately does something weird—if Draco didn’t know better, he’d think Snape was trying not to fucking _laugh_.

“Just a bagel for me,” Snape says, sounding unaffected. “With butter and lox.”

Lucius’s eyes widen, and he quickly claps Snape on the back, practically shouting, “Now, tell us about that new _synagogue_ you’ve been going to, Severus—you said the _rabbi_ has been very insightful, didn’t you?”

Snape doesn’t bother responding; he just calmly reaches for the mimosa carafe, pouring a generous amount into his empty water glass and ignoring Lucius’s high-pitched huff of dismay.

“So,” Draco starts, blandly. “Think there’ll be much of a scandal if I do a quickie Vegas wedding with Hermione? We were thinking an autumn elopement—”

Lucius drops his fork with an anticlimactic clatter of polished silver on soft-glazed porcelain. “Draco,” he hisses, lowering his voice and glaring furtively at the smear of strawberry-basil compote staining the outer edge of Draco’s bread plate. “I am preparing for an _incredibly_ _important_ election in a few months. I turned a blind eye to your—your _Fight Club_ shenanigans with the Potter boy last year, but your behavior must be above reproach from here on out.”

“What’s that, Dad?” Draco retorts loudly, prodding at the delicate skin of his perfectly poached egg with the blunt point of his butter knife. “Women only care about engagement rings and abortions?”

Snape chokes on his mimosa, spraying champagne across the snowy linen tablecloth, but Lucius looks fucking _livid_.

“I see,” Lucius grits out, nostrils flaring as he visibly fights off a scowl; Draco hopes Dobby is fucking _filming_ this. “I _see._ Well, Draco, you’re leaving me with very few options for the summer, aren’t you?”

Draco snorts. “What, am I _grounded_?”

“No, of course not. You’re a grown man—twenty-one next week, aren’t you? I can’t _ground_ you.”

“Then _what_?”

Lucius smiles, slowly, and it’s unpleasant enough that Draco actually stops chewing his bite of English muffin. “You’re going to have a _security detail_ this summer. To keep you out of trouble. Severus can recommend a few _strapping_ young men for the job, I’m sure.”

Draco stares, nonplussed. “Snape only knows _criminals_. You can’t send _criminals_ with me to fucking _Maine_.”

“Language, Draco,” Lucius tuts. “And you’ll find that I can do precisely _whatever_ I want—I’m not the one who requires a babysitter, am I?”

Snape doesn’t say anything— _again_ —but Draco notices his next sip of champagne is more like a gulp.

 

* * *

 


End file.
